


childish

by riptheh



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dark, Gen, Sad, literally just like, spoilers for timeless children!, the doctor must be protected at all costs and no i will not take arguments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riptheh/pseuds/riptheh
Summary: The Doctor is afraid of the dark. Now, she knows why.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 193





	childish

_and the stars_

_did wander darkling in the eternal space_

_-"Darkness", Lord Byron_

She shudders in the dark, curls in it. Knees to her chest, cheek to the floor. Can’t move, can’t speak. Eyes closed, can’t let it in. The darkness behind her eyelids is better than the one out there.

It’s the funny, simple things that bring her low. She doesn’t like the dark. This cell is full of it. Therefore, she huddles and dreams.

*

Darkness. It’s all around her—it’s all she knows. Deep, empty, terrifying. She cries out, and it sucks her breath away. Floating, falling. She doesn’t know where her parents are. She doesn’t know anything. She got lost, and now she  _ is _ lost, trapped between nothing, and nobody to rescue her.

*

“Why does he have to sleep out here?”

“He doesn’t want the others to hear him crying.”

“Why does he have to cry all the time?”

“You know why—”

“There’ll be no crying in the army—”

He doesn’t remember why he’s crying. He doesn’t remember what he’s afraid of. He’s lost and alone, deeply alone, in a way he can’t understand and doesn’t know how to explain. And nobody seems to get it, but they call him a coward anyway, and tell him that he’ll never be a Time Lord, won’t even make it in the army, will never  _ belong _ — 

*

The universe is full of darkness. He realizes this early, and realizes then that he will have to be fast if he wants to outrun it. Entropy encroaches, and with it the end of everything, all the lights snuffed out, but if he can run faster, if he can run farther, if he can see them all—

Susan wants to see the stars, and she’s bored to death at home, so he steals her and runs off, and she’s ever so grateful. She doesn’t realize that he never could have done it without her. The universe is vast, and mostly empty, and full of darkness he could never face alone, but in front of Susan he can feign bravery, and show her all of it. It’s better this way, he tells himself, and he doesn’t need too much convincing, even if he puts on a sour face when the humans come along. There is so much out there to see. A few pairs of eyes are better than one.

*

His tea has long since grown cold, but he sips it anyway as he examines the painting. Somewhere in the TARDIS, Clara is waiting, he knows. Probably growing impatient, but she’ll wait. She knows what this means to him. And besides, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away.

No More. Gallifrey Falls. Or maybe, just maybe—Gallifrey Falls No More. He can’t quite make himself believe it.

He doesn’t notice the wetness on his cheek until it rolls down his face and touches his lip, and when he dabs the corner of his eye, he finds another tear. And another. They come, slow, but steady, and after a minute of fighting he gives up with a groan and whips out a handkerchief.

“Always knew this would come in handy,” he whispers to himself, overly conscious of the quiet around him. “Didn’t think it’d be because of a painting, but—”

That’s how these things go sometimes. He finishes the thought silently and wipes away another tear before putting it away. The painting hangs before him, a solid, hopeful present. A gift, maybe.

“I saved you,” he says, and then says it again, to make it sound real. “I saved you.”

The painting doesn’t answer. His eyes track over the central image, the Citadel, and then draw to the corners, dark and foreboding. The emptiness in between. Of course, in a painting, there is no such thing as emptiness—only the illusion of it. The artist fills in the blanks to create a dark sky, and in doing so, makes it beautiful.

He doesn’t find beauty in it now. He searches for it, grasps at it, and it slips through his fingers like sand through a sieve. Darkness leers at the corners. Emptiness beckons.

He hates the dark. Hates the emptiness. Hates that it follows him wherever he goes, and he doesn’t know why. Hates that he cries, and he knows that they aren’t tears of joy.

They should be. He deserves that, to be happy. He’s saved his planet, his people, his home. He’s done the impossible. He’s no longer alone.

So why the devil does he feel it?

*

She wails, and wails, and wails, and nobody comes. Nobody answers. She wanders under strange towers on a sun drenched planet, lost and afraid, and cries tears upon tears, the kind that always brought her mother and father running, and is greeted by silence. The world is empty, and she is alone, and small, and scared.

And then, a long time later, she is  _ found _ . 

*

“Regenerate,” he begs the Master, cradling him in his arms, and he knows he should never beg, not from him, not for this, but he can’t help it. Loneliness encroaches, and darkness beckons, and he can’t be the last, not again. Not now, not when there’s the chance. “REGENERATE!”

But the Master only grins, wide and toothy, his face contorted in pain, and practically spits the word.

“ _ No _ .”

*

“Koschei, stop bullying Theta.”

Theta sticks his tongue out, hidden behind his granny’s back, and Koschei gives him a dirty look, then accompanies it with a gesture that he learned from one of the older students at the Academy. This immediately earns him a cuff to the ear, which sends him howling, and Theta giggling.

“I’ll kill you!” he tells Theta, and only narrowly avoids another swat to the back of the head. “Okay—OW! I’m kidding!”

“What is it with you?” he asks Theta later. Theta looks up, elbows deep into the wiring of the warp drive he’d stolen off his granny as an apology for getting Koschei punished. 

“What do you mean?”

Koschei scowls, and points his chin to the door, and the general direction of wherever Theta’s granny happens to be. “Her. And you. She’s the fifth, isn’t she? And they’re all so worried about you. I didn’t even hurt you.”

Theta shrugs, untroubled. “I don’t know. They’re protective. You try having seven grannies. They all want to be your favorite. Besides, you did push me.”

Koschei’s scowl deepens. “Yeah, _only_ pushed you. It’s not fair I get punished all the time and they treat you like you’re made of glass. You’re not a child anymore.”

Theta’s head jerks up. “I  _ know _ that! I’m not. They’re just protective.”

“Yeah.” Koschei makes a noise of disbelief in his throat. “Protective. Because you’re so special. Might think you were made of glass.”

Hands still deep in the wiring, Theta shoots him a glare. “Shut up. I am not made of glass.”

But he doesn’t deny the first part, and after a moment, when Koschei scoffs and looks away, his gaze only slides back to the warp drive, and he doesn’t seem to notice as Koschei studies him for a long while afterward. Puzzling it out. Trying to understand.

Trying to figure out just what it is that makes Theta so damn  _ special _ .

*

In her dreams, she is alone.

In her dreams, she connects. A dot here, an answer there. Stringing together all the things that didn’t make sense.

She’s scared of the dark, because she was born of it. A foundling, lost and alone, and doesn’t that match up? Never quite fit, never quite good enough. Not a Time Lord, not even an outcast properly, but a child all along, no say and no answers to be had. Her own memory scraped clean, and herself along with it.

She dreams of half remembered things, an island and a boy who fell from a cliff and came back to life, and a girl who wandered under a sun drenched sky, crying for parents who never answered. She dreams of darkness, and she cries because she know now that the darkness has always been inside of her. Not a part of her, but an impression so deeply laid that she couldn’t shake it if she tried.

She was a little boy, and she cried in her bed, because she was alone and afraid, and she always was, and she never knew it. Now she’s a Time Lord, thousands of years old, and she cries in her cell because she’s scared of the dark like the child she’s been all along, used and forgotten and wiped over to create a clean, better history.

Her own past, and she’s not even allowed to remember it, but she never quite forgot, either. Not the dark. Not the emptiness. Not the cries that nobody answered. Not the fear, stupid and childish as it is.

She’s never been a fan of growing up. Now, it turns out, she never really has.

The cell is cold, and empty, and dark as the night, and the Doctor lies on the floor and shuts her eyes, and tries to outrun it.

*

“Svi! Change of guard,” Paz calls as he turns the corner, and watches Svi’s helmeted head jerk up in relief.

“Thank god,” he says fervently as Paz approaches. “I was about to do myself in, I swear. Can barely stand it.”

Paz frowns, and shifts his weight, hoisting his weapon higher. Bloody antigrav guns. Heavy as a boulder. “Thought these cells were soundproof.”

But he can hear it even as he says the words, and his nose wrinkles. Svi snorts, and jabs a thumb over his shoulder.

“Yeah, for the prisoners. Inside only. Guards get to hear everything.  _ Everything _ .” He sneers in disgust, leaving Paz to catch the implications.

“Christ. Thought I’d get some peace and quiet down here.” He motions anyway for Svi to step aside, who does so gratefully. “How long has she been like this?”

“The entire. Fucking. Shift.” Svi enunciates each word, and Paz nearly groans, catching himself only at the last instant. Doesn’t bode to let the higher ups catch too much whining. They’ll overlook the grumbling as long as guards keep a stiff upper lip. Professionalism, they call it.

“So I’m screwed, you’re saying.” Paz watches Svi nod solemnly, and curses under his breath. “Great. Wonderful. Okay. Solitary confinement?”

“Buddy, what block do you think you’re on?” Svi shakes his head in sympathy. “No interference down here. Can’t even go in and get her to shut up.”

“Lovely,” Paz mutters, and glances over his shoulder, to the cell door. This close, he can hear her, muffled but clear. The quiet, continuous sobs. Weeping, more like. As irritating as a baby’s whine. “Christ. Right. Well, you should get out of here while you can. Go grab some grub, or something. Just  _ please _ make sure my replacement’s on time.”

“‘Course.” Svi gives him a mock salute and turns on his heel, hurrying down the hallway. Eager to get out of earshot, probably. Paz can’t blame him. It’s already grating at him, low and needling, the quiet sobs which rise and fall and rise again.

“Shut  _ up _ ,” he mutters, and knows she can’t hear him, but wishes he could. Vaguely, he recalls that she’s supposed to be one of the most dangerous fugitives in the galaxy. In the known universe, even. Destroyer of worlds, butcher of entire species. Deadly, powerful, terrifying.

Vaguely, he wonders what the hell she could possibly be scared of.


End file.
